


a good surgeon, a good criminal

by sparrabethington



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: based on malcolm asking jessica if she knew about the surgeon, from her pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrabethington/pseuds/sparrabethington
Summary: Martin was always so charming like that. Nobody suspected a thing because he was good at what he did. At everything he did. A good father, a good husband, a good surgeon, a good criminal.
Relationships: Jessica Whitly & Martin Whitly, Jessica Whitly/Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	a good surgeon, a good criminal

**Author's Note:**

> idk where this came from i just wanted to explore jessica & martin’s relationship a little

“Mother, answer me.” Tears slip down cheeks.

Nervous laughter. “Malcolm, dear, this really isn’t—“

“Answer the question!” It comes out more forceful than he intends it to be.

Jessica feels like crying. She wants to embrace her son and let him cry on her shoulder while she cries on his; maybe they can heal each other. Maybe if she can hold Malcolm close and tell him everything is alright and that they can get better then he’ll forget he ever asked and Jessica can sleep at night again.

No matter how hard she tries to do exactly that, Malcolm never gets any better. And in honesty, neither does she.

Jessica stands in frozen shock as she mentally prays to God that she won’t have to answer him. She feels the familiar sensation in her eyes indicative of incoming tears and she looks at the ceiling. Her lips quiver but utter no response, so Malcolm repeats his damning question.

“Did you know he was killing people?”

_ Did she know? _

She couldn’t possibly have known— she was as shaken as the rest of the city following Martin’s arrest. If she had known she would have said something. If she had known she would have taken her children somewhere safe out of his sight and mind. If she had known she would have left him. Right?

Jessica wishes she could answer the question simply. There is no easy explanation, and if she herself can hardly reason through it, there is no way she will ever be able to justify her situation to her son. Not with his desperate need for an answer that satisfies him, regardless of if it is the truth.

Truthfully, though, Jessica has to think about it. And even truer, she’s asked herself this same question countless times over the past two decades.  _ Did she know? Was she in denial? Was she hiding Martin’s monstrosities from her family, the world, and herself? Was she burying the hatchet simply because she loved him? _

About that Jessica could not lie. She did love Martin, no matter how agonizingly painful it killed her to admit it. Twenty years ago she would have done anything for him; she’d have destroyed herself to appease him because in her heart, she thought he loved her, too. The end was bitter— instead he was the destroyer, and all in pursuit of his own demented interest.

Jessica licks her lips as she remembers a simpler time. She closes her eyes and sees Martin reading Malcolm a bedtime story, dressing Ainsley, sketching quietly in his study. She sees him in the papers and in her dreams, then and now. She sees him in bed next to her and feels him kiss her with an empty promised love. She feels her heart, too, and becomes aware of how horribly it aches. It pounds and pleads against her ribcage though she isn’t sure why. She inhales and the pain is sharp. Martin would have liked this.

Malcolm is still standing in front of her, staring, searching her eyes for any sort of clue even if she does not directly answer him. He can’t decide on anything until his mother’s eyes well up suddenly with hot tears. Jessica sniffles, and they pour down her face.

Malcolm says nothing and simply offers her a hug. He doesn’t suppose he’s hugged his mother in years, but once he does, he doesn’t want to let go. He draws her in close as her throat opens with sobs, then closes with fear. Jessica’s arms tremble terribly when she lifts them, but she braves through it to return his embrace. She loathes to know that she’s crying over Martin in front of Malcolm, but she simply decides she will instruct him to never mention it again when all is said and done.

Curse Martin for being, well,  _ Martin. _ She had been filled to the brim with rage in the time following his arrest because of how well he hid himself. Jessica would routinely blame herself for the turn of events— she was his wife, she reasoned, and if anybody were to have known, it should have been her— but she didn’t. Martin was always so charming like that. Nobody suspected a thing because he was good at what he did. At everything he did. A good father, a good husband, a good surgeon, a good criminal.

Jessica often recounted their first dates, their wedding, their children being born. Some mornings she could still hear his “Good morning, gorgeous,” and at night, his “I love you, Jess”. She would recoil at the ghastly feeling of his arms around her waist or his fingers in her hair, his lips on hers. Martin was nothing to her anymore.

_ Or was he?  _ Anybody could have argued that with as much as she still thought about him, she was nowhere near over him. Jessica would argue back that they would likely think about it, too, if their husband had turned out to be one of the most infamous serial killers of the twentieth century. She had loved him so deeply and intensely that she had even tried to forgive him, but after feeling disgusted with herself for even thinking he deserved it, she decided she’d like to see him burn in Hell. She could sit on Satan’s throne for all she cared, as long as she would someday see his downfall, his  _ real _ downfall— a true and genuine loss on his part without it being something he orchestrated to inevitably make himself look good. Jessica hates that, among other things, about him. He always looks good.

The feeling of Malcolm’s hand on her back brings Jessica back to the present moment. For a while she’d forgotten his question, but when she remembers, she cries harder. She runs through the motions again in her head.  _ I knew _ , she wants to think,  _ I knew all along because I knew him and I  _ loved  _ him. _

Jessica knows she can’t say this because it isn’t true. She had no idea. She wishes she did. She wishes she had known before she had even decided to marry him. She wishes she could have avoided him in every way because she could have lived a normal life. Now all she’s known for is being The Surgeon’s wife, and what a way to live that is.

Closing her eyes, Jessica takes a small step away from her son. She breathes in deep and finally, at long last, shakes her head. “I didn’t know,” she says, just above a whisper. “Nobody knew.”

And because Malcolm does not know his father the same way that Jessica does, he can’t bring himself to believe her.


End file.
